


Ornaments of Gold

by thecountessolivia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Brief and minor breath play, But FANCY sex toys, But he MIGHT be a geisha slash trained assassin, Complete, Hannibal's background is mysterious, King Will, M/M, Rimming, Seductive Slave Hannibal, Several chapters of teasing but eventual piles of smut, Sex Toys, Sexy Times in the Royal Bath, Young Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: Amongst the captives brought before Will's court, one man stood out.Chapter 4 illustration byTheSeaVoicesThere is now aPart 2of this story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a [Siouxsie And The Banshees song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iLqRAnXvRw).

  
Amongst the captives brought before Will's court, one man stood out.

That he was a young man Will could deduce only by his height and the broad set of his bare shoulders, for his face was veiled by a covering of delicate chains, like a waterfall of gold, and the rest of the body was draped in furs.

He stood a step apart from his native companions, most of them rough, squatty men wearied by a long sea crossing and bewildered by strange surroundings. Whilst they swayed and shuffled on the spot, some quaking with needless fear, the man stood still, hands slipped into the folds of his fine cloak.

Will descended his throne, trailed by dogs, and approached the group. He gestured to one of Crawford's guard to pull the golden veil from the man's face. That it hadn't been removed already was down to Will's commands — no one brought to him was to be deprived of the customary garb of their homeland — but court etiquette dictated that no face should be hidden from the king. If Will were entirely honest with himself, in this instance curiosity walked hand in hand with tradition and decorum.

The covering was removed, strangely without protest, and the face which emerged was like moonlight poured over bone, stark and composed, with a cascade of soft sandy hair falling over the brow and lips as complex as a calculus lesson. Will stared at the youth, and didn't know why. The youth stared back, eyes wet and dark.

"Your orders for this lot, sire?" Crawford asked.

Will snapped himself from a sudden onset of reverie. "Sergeant Katz," he called to a member of the guard, stroking Wilson's head absently, "translate, please."

Katz stepped out of her rank and echoed Will's words in the captives' native tongue: that they would not be harmed; that although permanent, their stay would be filled with useful work in the court and its orchards and fields and stables; and that in time, their families could join them.

As ordered, the group began to split, dividing themselves into those who'd previously worked outdoors and those who'd been domestics. The youth stood between the two contingents, the impervious expression now betraying something like sardonic mirth. His people eyed him grimly, while the man eyed Will.

Will would not allow insolence. "You," he said to the man. "To the kitchens first, then to my chambers."

"But sire," Crawford protested, "we don't know if he's capable of attending you. He didn't utter a single word on the journey over. For all we know he may be a mute, or a half-wit."

Will ignored him. "See that he is made familiar with the kitchen routine, then have Chilton show him around my quarters."

The group began its exodus, the young man in furs trailing behind.

"You," Will called again. The man peered over his shoulder — so he did understand.

"Your name."

In reply, the youth spread a slow smile that put creases of warmth beneath his dark eyes. He stomped his bare foot, causing pure, sweet music to resound about the great hall. Will looked down: the man's slim ankles were draped with chains of tiny golden bells.

 


	2. Chapter 2

After several hours of hearing petitions, signing proclamations and enduring the droning of his councillors on the subjects of farming, taxes and defence, Will managed his escape. As usual, he asked for no one to accompany him and returned to his chambers alone.

At the doors he hesitated, remembering the captive he'd summoned earlier. Why had he ordered his solitude to be thus invaded? What strange new possibilities now lurked within? Whatever they were, Will resolved to face them. He slipped quietly inside.

A fire burned brightly in Will's hearth. Crouching beside it was the as-yet nameless youth. On hearing Will enter he rose to stand and folded his hands before him, as still and inscrutable as he'd been in the great hall — no bowing, no grovelling. He had shed his furs and now wore a loose shirt of transparent blue silk that flowed over his slim body like water, tucking in at the waist into soft leather breeches. The gold still glinted at his ankles and glimmered in the thread sewn into the cuffs of the shirt. His bright and watchful eyes followed Will's dogs as they leapt off the bed and trotted over to greet their master.

Will raised both hands in a calming gesture. "You don't need to be scared of them. Or me."

The youth's head inclined a fraction to the side. "I do not fear you," he said in a low voice tinged with the accent of his homeland, then moved towards Will's bed with the spring-loaded grace of someone summoned to a dance. He climbed onto the blankets and reclined himself on his side, head propped in his hand. He gazed calmly at Will.

Will stared back, incredulous and outraged. He moved for the bed, thinking his approach might cause this strangely bold and certainly not mute creature to reconsider his actions and cower. "Did I allow you to do that?" he asked.

"No," the captive said and stretched himself out to full comfort. Two of the dogs wandered over and gave his bare feet a puzzled sniff. "But your reputation precludes you from exercising any harsh punishment against me. And so I take my chances."

"And what reputation is that?" Will said and felt his blood quicken with something that may have been anger.

"Will the Just," the young man said, "Will the Merciful. Isn't that what your people call you? How strange that a land could be so bloodlessly ruled."

Will leaned against a bedpost, arms folded across his chest. "Been saving all those words for the whole sea journey? My soldiers took you for a mute."

"I speak to those who are worth speaking to. And so I've been saving my words for you."

With that came a drawn-out moment of mutual silence. The blood still rushed in Will's veins, though perhaps not spurred on by anger after all.

"Is one of those words your name?" Will said at last.

"I am Hannibal," the youth said and rose to kneel on the bed. "Now: how do you want me?" He reached down and began unlacing his breeches with deft fingers.

"Want—" Will spun away to avert his eyes. "Stop— what— what are you doing?"

Hannibal's low sonorous voice reached him and Will could hear a note of mirth in it. "Do you mean to say you don't bed your new conquests? Then why have you summoned me here?"

"You— you're here to turn down my bed and draw my bath, not to—" Will stuttered. He peered over his shoulder and heat rushed to his face: the leather had slid down Hannibal's thighs and the sheer blue silk veiled the length of his cock, its tip as pink as that soft, complicated mouth.

"Gods help me," Will muttered and closed his eyes. Strange new possibilities were now upon him.


	3. Chapter 3

Will turned, hand held over his brow, at least in part to shield his eyes from all that inviting skin.

“Hannibal, get dressed. I’m not about to— ravish you. That’s not done in my court. Neither the laws nor I would ever allow it.”

A soft rustle of fabric rose up as Hannibal pulled up his breeches. Will dropped his hand and found the young captive dressed, sitting cross-legged on the bed and leaning back on his hands. His hair fell over his eyes in thick straight wisps. It looked beguilingly soft, beckoning to be brushed back.

“Hmm. Shame,” Hannibal mused. “I was pleased when you chose me to attend you, though not surprised. I was the most appealing one, after all, and I can hardly imagine your royal eye falling instead on one of the toothless pig farmers I’d been herded in with. Is my punishment for invading your bed still forthcoming?”

Will shook his head and nearly rolled his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to unlace his boots. His body ached from the morning’s long muddy ride to inspect the returning troops. “As a matter of fact I’m considering sending you back to the kitchens, where you can chew the ears off the cooks and scullery maids. Now that you've found your speech, do you intend to just keep on talking endlessly?“

At that Hannibal slipped from the bed and knelt before Will, the bracelets at his ankles singing their sweet song. His fingers fell on the laces of Will's boots, as quick and nimble as they had been on his own trousers. His eyes were downcast, focused on their task, and so Will could take him in without the challenge and intensity of his captive's eyes. Hannibal's mouth was soft and expressive, drawn on with a heavy and precise hand onto a sharp yet oddly delicate face. Kneeling, he looked smaller and so vulnerable — like the conquered young man he was.

“If you wish me to be quiet, I’ll be quiet,” Hannibal said softly. He slipped off one boot, then the other, then sat back on his heels and laced his fingers in his lap, without turning his gaze up.

Will thought all that sudden submission blatantly manipulative. He let one hand slide into the sand-coloured mane and found it as soft as he'd imagined. He fisted Hannibal’s hair and pulled until he heard a soft gasp, until he had those eyes lifted up to his own again. He found them shining and wide and entirely without fear.

“You were caught, imprisoned and dragged across the sea,” Will said. “Why aren’t you bothered by any of this, Hannibal? Why aren't you scared or defiant? Answer me honestly.”

Hannibal’s eyes didn’t falter. He leaned back into Will’s grip. The whole of his neck was on display and Will saw him swallow before he answered.

"Your men caught me carrying knives through the borderlands. I fought them as well as I could until I saw your sigil. Then I surrendered, for I had come across not a threat but an opportunity. Here at last was my chance to meet you, the one I had heard and read so much about. I saw through the rumours, the propaganda, the wild stories. I knew you'd be extraordinary. Though I never imagined you'd be so beautiful."

Will could only manage a laugh. He had no ready reply. Was this honest? It was certainly earnest, and filled with a curious want that Will too had felt since his eyes first fell on the bare shoulders and the furs and the golden veil.

“Do you truly never bed your captives?" Hannibal asked. He lifted his braided hands from his lap, as if in prayer. "What if they beg for it?”

Will’s hand slipped from Hannibal's hair.

“Stand for me.”

Hannibal stood as ordered. He was close enough for Will to catch his scent: wild herbs and moss and wood smoke, like something from an ancient and untamed forest.

“I would like to touch you," Will said quietly. "I would like you to give your consent first.”

“I am yours, sire,” Hannibal replied quickly. His arms hung loosely at his sides and Will thought he could see a faint tremble in the fingers. “Do with me as you please.”

Will touched him. Tracing the shoulders, over the fragile blue silk that barely covered pale skin, over young lean muscle that shifted beneath Will’s palms. Lingering over the faint roundness at the belly. Feeling for hip bones through the leather of the breeches. Desire rose in Will’s blood like music or fire and it was all he could do to stop himself from digging his nails in or putting his mouth on some choice part of this warm and desperately willing body. He let his hands fall.

“Go and draw me a bath,” he said to Hannibal, and it was an order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I removed the “mostly PWP” tag as 2000 words of build-up probably doesn’t count as PWP. Hope you continue to enjoy nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of running water drifted in from the baths which adjoined the bed chamber. Meanwhile, Will sat on his bed with his head in his hands and tried to come to his senses.

This entire whim of his had to be madness. Any sensible ruler would assess this boy and find him unhinged — or, worse, a spy — and have him thrown in a dungeon or sent off to a slave farm. But Will had the unfortunate gift for seeing through people. The gift had kept him safe from the usual tricksters and would-be assassins who stalked the courts of the neighbouring kingdoms. And Hannibal — Hannibal burned with a sincerity that was devoid of all deceit. He really did want Will.

And that was a problem. Will stared down at his lap. He was still half hard from merely touching his eager new servant some minutes ago. He'd never known his body to be so demanding.

He’d had few lovers. Several kind ladies of the court had obliged him discreetly over the years, but soon went back to their lutes and their archery, discouraged by his solitary habits which all too often made him rude and awkward. It left Will with a conviction that coital activities were just another royal duty to be performed, with the eventual aim of squeezing out a suitable heir or two. Where men were concerned, he'd not fared much better. There had been in his late teens one desperate tumble with his fencing instructor. They had groped at each other, worked their dicks together and, when it was over, went back to the lesson as if nothing had happened. Beyond that, Will knew what men did together only from overhearing bawdy stories told after too many ales, and from having once had to reprimand two soldiers who’d been found whilst on duty, one pleasuring the other with his mouth.

Unbridled lust had come to Will only in dreams, in vague and sometimes blood-tinged visions of hot skin and writhing muscle that had him waking up hard and panting and jerking off roughly under his sheets. That same intensity of lust possessed him now and he didn't know how to apply it to the sharp-cheekboned, silk-and-gold creature currently preparing his bath.

The sweet chime of an ankle bell summoned him next door.  
  
\----

He found Hannibal sitting on the tiled edge of the bathing pool, pouring a thin stream of some pale liquid into the steaming water. The scent of it had filled the room to the high ceilings, and it was the scent of Hannibal himself, amplified: meadowsweet, rose, wild thyme.

Hannibal had shed his breeches. Sheer fabric fell in folds over the tops of his legs, which were long and lean like a woman's. Beneath the shirt Will spotted another thin gold chain, loosely coiled around Hannibal's hips. He turned to Will and gave him the slightest of smiles. Steam had glossed his skin and left his hair clinging to his brow.

"What's that you're pouring in there?" Will asked stiffly. The perfume emerging from the copper vase seemed designed to assault his senses and make his head swim.

"The kitchen servants permitted me prepare milks and oils for your bath," Hannibal said, then his smile twitched. "Under strict supervision, of course. Your people are very protective of you. Though it's just as well that I did, since I found nothing here to scent the water with. Why is that, sire?"

He rose and moved towards Will, who was standing uselessly near the doorway. Will did his best not to stare between Hannibal's thighs, at the slight languid movement caused by each step to his soft but still sizeable cock. He pictured himself reaching under the silk veil and feeling the weight and shape of it in his hand, examining it like a newly acquired possession.

"Why what?" Will muttered distractedly.

"Why are your ablutions so bare?"

"Soap's always been good enough for me, and for my former chamber man," Will said. Old man Hans had been taciturn and unobtrusive, two qualities Will had treasured. He used to run and heat the water, scrub Will's back with dutiful roughness, then retire from the room and leave the rest of the bath to his undemanding liege.

"And what has become of him?" Hannibal asked and began unlacing Will's doublet. Though he stood close, he was careful, Will noticed, not to lay a finger on Will's body. Will balled his hands into fists. His own fingers itched with the need to touch again.

"Retired as of last week. On his way to the goat farm I gave him."

"How kind of you," Hannibal replied and Will frowned at the amusement he thought he heard in the youth's voice. The strange impulse to threaten Hannibal with punishment for his boldness only fed Will's desire.

The doublet was removed and draped over Hannibal's forearm. The shirt came next. And still those quick and skilled fingers avoided touch. Was it decorum? Or merely a tease? The room was warm but Hannibal was warmer. His perfumed heat was closing in on Will, coiling and clinging to him like a caress.

The young captive slid down to his knees to attend to Will's trousers and oh, Will did love to have him like this, but ordinary nervousness had him in its jaws. In a moment the extent of his arousal would be nakedly apparent and his ignorance would be laid bare.

Will shut his eyes and waited. A few deft movements of Hannibal's hands and he felt himself set free and exposed to the scented air. A soft sigh came from below.  
  
"Well. You are indeed fit to rule," Hannibal murmured.

Will looked down and let out a shuddering breath. The erect length of his cock stood out from the front of his trousers, flushed and stiff and a breath away from that extraordinarily curved mouth.

Hannibal's gaze drifted up to Will's face. Colour had crept into his cheeks. Will's fingers fell into Hannibal's hair again and tugged.

"Such a mouth," he said, and meant it in more ways than one. "Maybe I should have ordered you to be quiet."

"You still may," Hannibal replied softly. The tip of a pink tongue ran over his lips and left them glistening. "But then how could I ask you what you want?"

Will's fingers slipped from his captive's hair and brushed over one sharp cheekbone.

"You. I want you."

Hannibal's eyes fluttered to a close.

"Then you'll have me, sire?"

"Yes," Will managed. "Yes, I'll have you."

 _If you only show me how_ , he thought.

"In the bath," Hannibal said.

"In the bath."

 

\----

Illustration by [TheSeaVoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseavoices)


	5. Chapter 5

Will went into the water first, conscious as he'd never been of his nakedness, and of the eyes that watched him from behind.

He crossed to the far end of the pool and lowered himself down onto a sunken marble ledge. He gripped the edge of the seat and stared at the approach of his soon-to-be lover.

He felt somewhere between nervous and punchdrunk. Hannibal was wading towards him with the slow predatory grace of some otherworldly sprite birthed by the scented steam, his stride setting off ripples that broke against Will's chest like a caress. The pool had muted his bracelets and lifted up his delicate shirt, leaving some of it in a pale blue puddle about his thighs and the rest plastered in thick wet creases against his belly, hips and cock. His eyes looked as hungry as they had felt on Will's back.

"You should hurry up," Will said quietly, though he wasn't sure if he meant it. "You don't know what I do to sluggish servants."

Hannibal gave him a coy look. "Do you eat them?"

And then he was close enough. Will reached for him. Hannibal let himself be drawn in between Will's thighs, body sweetly and strangely pliant. Only the audible breath that moved his chest and the faint twitching in his fingers betrayed a tension. He stood where he was put and waited — waited for Will to take what he wanted.

But now that Will was touching again, he felt aimless. He shut his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against the slight roundness of Hannibal's stomach, put down kisses there blindly and lost himself in the perfume of warm flesh. He sent his hands under the clinging shirt, ran his thumbs beneath the chain looped about Hannibal's hips, then tugged until metal dug into skin.

He was stalling. He didn't know where to take this. He owned this boy. He could touch him like this all night and Hannibal would let him — would enjoy it. He _was_ enjoying it. Hannibal's breath had grown uneven and when Will peered up, he saw it well enough: the lips parting and closing, the arching neck, the closed eyes with their smooth pale lids. His arms swayed at his sides. He still hadn't laid a finger on Will's body.

But Will's cock had its own ideas. Stiff and heavy and brushing against Hannibal's leg in the water, it nagged at Will after months of neglect. Other than the relief of his own hand, he'd only had one fuck this year: a quick, drunken fling with a courtier. He'd barely enjoyed it.

Besides, Hannibal, too, was filling out under Will's attentions. The silk put up little resistance against the thick erection now rising out of its folds. Will wanted to kiss it, or to put it on his tongue and see if it tasted as good as Hannibal smelled. How could he? He'd never done it before. He'd betray himself with his graceless attempt, and look a fool in front of a servant.

At least he could touch. He ran his knuckles over damp fabric to trace the outline of Hannibal's cock, brushing over the slight ridge where the head was still half-cradled in the smooth foreskin. He wanted more, so he peeled back the silk like wrapping from a gift and brought his cupped fingers underneath the shaft, cradling its weight and heat.

A sigh turned audible in Hannibal's throat. Will reached up with his free hand to feel the sound break on his lips. As soon as the touch landed, Hannibal caught at Will's thumb and sucked.

And sucked and sucked. His head moved and his tongue snaked and rolled until Will's skin grew wet and slick and hot. And Gods, Hannibal's mouth — Hannibal's soft, pink mouth looked as if someone had tried to kiss it away from that starkly beautiful face.

Will could ask for that mouth. He could kiss it, find out just how soft it really was, then demand its services elsewhere. That would be simple. Easy.

"I want to take— I want—" he managed. He was almost dizzy from the wet suction around his thumb. His cock twitched in the water.

Hannibal let him go with a lick and a light nip of sharp teeth. "Tell me your appetite, tell me what I can give you," he said dreamily. His eyes were still closed and he swayed closer towards Will.

Will swallowed and shook his head. The request wouldn't come. He'd commanded armies but felt paralysed at the thought of asking Hannibal to suck him off.

"I should tell you that I've prepared myself for any eventuality," Hannibal murmured.

Will didn't know what that meant but was quickly informed. With a soft splash, Hannibal spun in Will's arms and faced away. He peered over his shoulder. His eyes were dark and half-mast beneath heavy lids, filled with want. "Spread me and check," he said. And then: "There is oil in the silver jug just behind you, make me slicker if you wish."

Will's throat formed some clipped, choked noise in reply. Straight in front of him was Hannibal's ass: two perfect firm handfuls of rounded flesh, begging to be squeezed or parted. Or marked. Or bitten. Tendrils of the golden chain dripped down from the hips to the cleft, glinting in the light of the lanterns that hung above them.

Will reached up with shaking hands to bring his palms flush with smooth skin. He kneaded until he had the cheeks parted. Was this, then, how men took other men? There? It was tiny and pink and made slippery with oil. And it looked impossible. Yet this is what Will was being offered: to press in there and fuck.

He felt winded with want. He shoved one hand down into the water and grabbed his cock. Just a few strokes. He'd just give himself a few strokes while his fingers reached in between Hannibal's cheeks to caress that inviting pink hole and see how readily it would yield to him.

It yielded. The muscle gave way, Will's finger slid in smoothly and Hannibal gasped.

And then Will heard his own voice, gasping and swearing. "Oh fuck, oh fuck."

He'd miscalibrated. Caught up in the moment, he'd lost track of his arousal in the greedy pump of his fist. A whirlpool of pleasure had opened up low in his belly and shaken his thighs. His orgasm was spun out of him with a sudden, startling force.

He shoved Hannibal back, and doubled over as if struck. He gripped his knees and stared down to watch thin ropes of his come drift away into the pool. Hannibal would see them.

He glared up with apprehension and saw Hannibal looking down into the water from two steps away — wearing a smile.

"Amused? How _dare_ you look amused?" Will said bitterly. Any other ruler would now strike the captive for that seeming smirk, then have him whipped — or worse.

Hannibal's little smile didn't falter. He took a few more steps back, then let himself fall back into the water and drift, feet splashing and chiming. His hard cock fell against his belly.

"I'm not amused," he said. "I'm delighted at your desire, directed towards me with such enthusiasm. And you, sire? Do you fret because we've now forfeited our chance to make love?"

Will stared at this floating, utterly unperturbed creature. After a moment, he nodded once.

"Then you underestimate my talents. What does it matter? I'll have you hard again soon." He rose up again, peeled out of his shirt and let it drift off behind him, a little blue island of silk. He stood before Will, all skin and gold. "Besides, just as well: I still ought to wash you. What kind of servant would I be otherwise?"

Will was speechless.

And then, at last, Hannibal did touch him. 


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal reached into the water to clasp at Will's hands and tugged. Will let himself be pulled up until they were face to face.

"May I touch you?" Hannibal asked.

"You are touching me," Will said, too sharply. The guilt and anger over their interrupted coitus still lingered.

"Everywhere."

Will's heart gave a thud against his bones. He twitched his hands inside Hannibal's warm grip. "You let me touch you when I asked."

"Yes, but we're hardly equals."

Under this guise of deference, Will decided, was a ploy to extract from him something of what he truly wanted. No one touched him. There were ceremonial hand kisses, of course, and examinations by court physicians. And then there were his few awkward trysts. But outside these regulated encounters, Will's body was a regal object to be observed and protected — never held or caressed. Just as well, Will had always told himself: he did not wish to be touched. Strange hands too often transmitted through them the reverence or pity or false pretences of their owners.

Hannibal was watching him, waiting. Finger by finger Will released his hands and nodded his assent.

Touch descended on Will like an avalanche of warm sensation. Nothing transmitted through Hannibal's hands: only a pure, unbroken connection. Slick and soft with oil, they travelled down Will's shoulders and arms, along his back, chest and belly; then down into the water to cover his thighs and between his legs to brush over his spent cock. Then up again, without an inch of skin spared. Will's anger receded like a tide, replaced by languor and a dizzying sense of intimacy unlike anything he'd ever felt. And so he tried to fight it.

"This doesn't seem like a good way to remove dirt."

Hannibal drizzled more oil over his palms and breathed a laugh. "We've only just begun. The oil will allow me to knead away your aches. I'll scrape it off afterwards. And then I'll wash you." The pressure of his palms deepened with unexpected strength, into the tight muscles of Will's shoulders. Will groaned.

It felt so good to hand his body over to another. Minutes rolled by and he let himself drift into a curious concoction of pleasure, pain and release. Knots of tension began to dissolve beneath Hannibal's strong hands and Will thought he might dissolve along with them, were it not for the distraction of Hannibal's naked body beside his own. This close, without the veil of sheer silk, Will could observe him once more in detail.

Face to face, he was a fraction taller. The cold, serene look had returned to his face, and Will thought of how close he had come to replacing that expression with one of unbridled pleasure. There was a tiny scar on the bridge of his nose — had Will's soldiers given it to him? The hair on his chest, unfurled over his nipples like wings of fur, was closely cropped.

Will reached out and brushed his knuckles against the hair. "You trim this."

"I do."

Will spread his hand over Hannibal's chest to feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Why?"

"Preference."

"Yours or someone else's?"  
  
Hannibal met his gaze and paused his ministrations. "It had been someone else's."

"Grow it out," Will said.

Hannibal gave him that peculiar smile which only seemed to settle around his eyes. "Yes, sire."

Will kept watching. He looked down between them, to Hannibal's cock in the water, still half erect in its tight and trimmed nest of curls. Will still wanted it in the way he'd never wanted another man's dick, still wanted it in his hands and mouth. He felt guilt and desire in equal measure.

"Didn't you want to— uh," he said.

Hannibal followed the line of his gaze. "I'm saving my pleasure for when you're inside me," he said softly.

And that was enough to spill a fresh pool of want low inside Will's belly. He remembered the tight squeeze around his finger, the fire inside Hannibal's body. For all his inadequacy, he could picture how their bodies could meld and move, with Hannibal's heat eating him up.

As if Hannibal could read his thoughts, their bodies came together with a soft splash. Hannibal's hips pressed against Will's, a slow grind without friction that brought their cocks together in the water, time and time again. Will's hands fell against Hannibal's waist and squeezed. His forehead dropped to Hannibal's shoulder and he breathed out a shuddering sigh.

"This is the most ineffective bath I've ever had," he muttered against warm skin. "I'm having some doubts as to your skills."

Hannibal's fingers carded gently through his hair. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture made Will's heart ache. He shut his eyes.

"These are tangled," Hannibal murmured against Will's scalp. "I should see to them." He lifted Will's face gently in both hands and stroked over his beard. Will couldn't take his eyes off the absurdly alluring curves of his mouth. "Perhaps I should shave you as well?"

Will shook his head and swallowed hard. "No. Leave it. It's only trimmed once a week."

Hannibal made a small considering noise and rolled his hips forward. Will's cock twitched against Hannibal's in the milky water.

"Is it your youthful beauty you try to hide beneath your beard? Or something else?"

"Don't know about beauty. It's there to ensure my court doesn't mistake their sovereign for a boy of seventeen."

"No. They may mistake you for many things, but not that."

"And what do they mistake me for?"

"I heard your men talk whilst they were bringing me here. I've seen how they behave with you at court. To them you are either a blunt tool, ready to be unsheathed whenever the enemies of the land slither close, or something rare and precious to be kept within these walls and protected."

Will didn't know how to reconcile the bewilderment and anger at these words with his rising arousal. He wanted to do something, so he reached for Hannibal's cock, but Hannibal drew away and waded to the edge of the pool, giving Will a fleeting look at that perfect ass. He returned with a comb — gold like Hannibal's bracelets, and not Will's own.

The comb had emerged from an unfolded leather sheath which had been set beside the vials of bath milks and oils. Slotted inside it were several objects, all of them gold: a beautifully carved brush, an ornate strigil, and a mysterious oblong tool the purpose of which Will couldn't discern.

All of this, along with the knives and the gold veil which had been taken from him, must have been the whole of Hannibal's worldly possessions.

"What is all this stuff?" Will gestured to the mysterious collection. He sensed the reverence which Hannibal afforded these treasures.

Hannibal ran the comb gently through Will's hair, careful of the knots. "Some are heirlooms. Others I've acquired over the years. Not all of what I once owned has remained. The bracelets I wore on my wrists were stolen from me by thieves. And my veil and my knives, as you know, were taken from me."

"By my guards," Will said. Then, despite himself and masking a curious guilt, added: "And by law."

Hannibal ran the comb through the curls at Will's nape and followed it with a caress of his hand. “By your law, yes. Whilst I design laws to protect only myself, you design yours to protect others. In both cases, violence is sometimes inevitable. Tell me, sire, how did it feel to slaughter the head of the Hobbs clan?"

Will's hand shot up to Hannibal's throat. He didn't know why. He didn't squeeze. Too many streams were coursing through his veins at once: desire, residual anger at Hannibal's boldness, and the memory of fear and hot spilled blood.

"It felt like justice," Will said through his teeth.

The comb slipped from Hannibal's grip and sunk into the water. He leaned into Will's grip. His eyes were wet and bright and filled with something Will could not give name to. "I've heard so many stories. I wish I had been there. How beautiful you must have looked. Was his blood on your face?"

Will squeezed his throat, once. "Kiss me."

Hannibal gasped. Will's hand fell away. He pulled Hannibal in by the shoulders and their lips met.

Hannibal's mouth came to Will like the end of a drought. It melted open against Will's own and Will drank it up. He sucked and licked, chased after Hannibal's tongue with his own and still couldn't get enough, like a parched man at a well under a scorching sun. Obscene noises escaped him but he could not tame them. He reached around for Hannibal's ass and Hannibal gripped both their cocks in the water. Both of them were hard again, and Will wouldn't misspend this chance.

"I want to fuck you," he gasped when their lips pulled apart, only to meet again. He could barely tear himself away. "Really fuck you. Open you up."

A little choked noise came from Hannibal's throat. He nipped at Will's lower lip. "There is something I want to show you. May I?"

Will nodded and let him go with a light shove. Hannibal reached into the leather sheath for the object Will had glimpsed earlier: a strange wand, round-tipped and long as a small child's forearm, ribbed and wider at the base where it tapered like a lance. Gold, like all of Hannibal's possessions.

It struck Will like a thunderbolt what the object was for. But he did not dare to say it, either out loud or in his head. He must have looked slack-jawed or wide-eyed, because Hannibal seemed suddenly and distinctly amused. "Your guards took my weapons, but left me my other belongings, as you can see. And they left this—" he tapped the object lightly against Will's chest— "which they mistook for some tool of dark magic. You should speak to them about their superstitions."

Will stared at the wand. It glinted in Hannibal's hand. "You— why do you have this?"

"It is a tool of pleasure. An inert companion to ease the solitude of my long travels."

Will nodded slowly and licked his lips. "Right. It's for— opening you up, isn't it?"

Hannibal cocked his head to the side, wisps of wet hair tumbling over his brow. "Come, sire. Such tame language."

Will took the tool from Hannibal's hand. His own was shaking. "It's for fucking you with."

Hannibal was touching him again: loose, languid strokes along the shaft of Will's cock. The water splashed softly about his wrist. "Yes. Would you like to use it on me? You seemed to enjoy your previous attempt. And it provides good practice to those who are novices to the act."

Will could have grown angry again. Of course Hannibal had seen through his pathetic lack of experience. But the promise of Hannibal's body came over him like a sweet defeat and he yielded to it.

"Will you tell me how?" he asked quietly.

Hannibal kissed him with a passion that made Will dizzy. "Yes, sire. Yes I will."

The display that followed was almost too much, obscene and exquisitely alluring in equal measure. Hannibal bent himself over the edge of the bath, one knee drawn up, his body reflected in the sweet scented water. Loops of golden chains dripped over the flawless swell of his ass and that delicate pink hole presented itself to Will again, ready for the taking.

Hannibal peered over his shoulder, lips parted and eyelids heavy with want. "Your fingers first, sire. As before. Please."

Will was nearly shaking. He set the golden fuck toy aside and slicked his hands with oil. With one he had to grip the base of his dick to stave off another disaster. With the other he reached for Hannibal's ass.

One finger, then another. Two fingers sunk past tight circles of muscle and all the way into silken heat. Will let them thrust in slowly, carefully. He felt hypnotised by the deepening arch of Hannibal's back, the soft little open-mouthed noises that escaped him each time Will stroked into his body.

"Good?"

Hannibal was watching him with a dream-like gaze. He nodded.

"More?" Will's voice felt strangled in his throat. He felt as if he could do this forever.

"Or you can put the toy inside me. As you wish."

Emptied of Will's fingers, that tight little opening had grown more pink and pliant. Will was overcome with the urge to kiss his handiwork, as he had kissed Hannibal's mouth. He was past all care. He'd take what he wanted.

"I want to kiss you there first," he said and felt heat rush to his face.

Whatever noise Hannibal made in reply, it was in agreement. His back arched in welcome and supplication.

Will tried to hold back and navigate cautiously into this novel act, but once his lips touched the tender rim of Hannibal's hole, he collapsed into greed. It was too good: the sweet little pucker of muscle yielding to the pumping and flicking of his tongue, the gasps and pleas he drew from Hannibal's throat. Will dug his fingers into Hannibal's hips and licked and sucked until he had Hannibal loose and slick and open. He smothered his moans against Hannibal's flesh and never wanted to stop.

He had to pull back for breath. He pushed himself away with a splash and panted. His cock throbbed almost painfully in the water. "What do you want, tell me. Tell me now."

Hannibal twisted to meet his gaze. All that cool, collected calm had drained from his features. He looked debauched and desperate and oddly fragile. "Fill me up. Watch me open up to you."

It was a servant's order, but Will would obey it without shame.

He arched over Hannibal for a hard, wet kiss.

Then he gripped blindly for the golden toy.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Will pulled back, panting hard into the scented steam. Hannibal's body seemed to vibrate before him with anticipation. Muscles shifted in his back, beneath skin where drops of water lay scattered like diamonds. His tongue passed over his lips, lapping up remnants of Will's kiss. His hips canted back, seeking.

Will slid the toy between Hannibal's cheeks — and hesitated. Against that tight little hole, loosened though it was by Will's fingers and tongue, the golden implement looked like an impossibly huge weapon of invasion. Will saw himself driving the widening rippled shaft into Hannibal's body and felt on the verge of violence.

He leaned down to kiss the small of Hannibal's back, as if to soften an impending blow. "How, uh— how deep should I—"

Hannibal's voice was low and eager. "As deep as you would like to see me take it, sire."

Will shut his eyes and breathed through the head rush brought on by those words. "I don't want to hurt you,” he said.

He heard a soft splash and when he looked again, Hannibal was standing before him, arms sliding about Will's shoulders. "I assure you," Hannibal murmured against his mouth, "that any pain you cause me will transmute itself into pleasure through the alchemy of your desire." He kissed Will, very softly, and reached down to stroke the toy. "Use it as you would a key. Or a plough. Mould me open. Make me ready to take you inside me."

Will dropped his head to stifle a curse against Hannibal's throat. Hannibal's words were making him harder, so hard that his cock hurt. He reached back and drew the slick wand between Hannibal's cheeks, up and down.

"At least tell me if this will make you feel good. Without— without the pain part."

"More than you know. Slip it inside me and I'll show you how. Here... yes. Slowly."

Hannibal's hand guided his wrist until Will was making small circles with the toy's rounded tip. Then the hand drifted away. Will held his breath and, slowly, as instructed, pushed in.

Hannibal's mouth fell open. He gripped Will's shoulders for balance and gave a soft little groan. His hips pushed back once, then again and again until they were rocking and swivelling in a shallow rhythm.

Will held the toy still and let him move. They fell into another a kiss. Tongue tangled with tongue and lips suckled lips. Each little thrust slapped Hannibal's cock against Will's in the water, a fleeting little tease of sensation. Will felt overwhelmed, not in the least by the sudden greed to see how far he'd managed to sink the golden shaft into Hannibal's body. Hannibal seemed to read his thoughts once more. He pried their mouths apart.

"Let me spread myself for you again. Then you can watch." Will wanted to watch.

It seemed to him that he must have waded into a dream. Nothing in his past could remotely compare to this. Not two hours ago he was sat in a seemingly interminable meeting of his council, enduring briefings on proposed grain allocation strategies for the Northern territories. Now here he was, gorging his eyes on the shapely limbs of his strange wanton servant, and fucking his gorgeous firm ass with gold. The chime of submerged ankle bells filled the room and made music with Hannibal's soft gasps.

Will swayed in the water as if drunk. He sunk to his knees, to watch from up close the penetration he was advancing into Hannibal's body. Each stroke he made claimed half the gleaming, well-oiled shaft and Will couldn't fathom driving it in any deeper. The rim of Hannibal's hole was stretched and reddened, but still he offered himself, sighed and pleaded softly for more whenever Will stopped and held himself back.

He leaned in and kissed Hannibal's smooth cheeks, then shifted closer still and dragged his tongue, soothingly, along the place where delicate oiled flesh met the smooth glide of metal. Crude noises forced themselves unbidden from his throat. He began to lick and fuck, in tandem, faster and faster. He drew the toy out, kissed the stretched pink muscle, delved in until his tongue strained, then pushed in again with gold.

Beneath him, Hannibal’s thighs began to shake. Sighs and pleas crumbled into clipped moans. Will pulled back and found Hannibal's head thrown back and turned.

"Does it please you to have me like this?" he asked. There was a crack in that cool, collected voice. Will liked it. He could barely find the words to reply.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, keeping the toy as deep inside as he would dare. "And so full."

It dawned on Will that all of this could be his to have now: Hannibal, like this, whenever Will wanted. Will could work him open like this tomorrow, and the day after. The toy, pushed all the way in, could be held in Hannibal's body, could be kept there for hours. Will could return to his chambers after a long day of royal drudgery and open up his beautiful servant as one opens a fine wine.

"Please, sire." Hannibal's voice again, soft and strained — it brought Will back to the present moment. "I can take more. Put it all inside me."

It happened without thought: Will's hand flew up and landed in a light slap against Hannibal's ass. They both gasped.

"No," Will answered roughly. "You said you'd show me how to use it to make you feel good."

Hannibal blinked at him slowly, like a chided cat. For a moment, something of that remote coolness returned to his face. He nodded, then reached back to take the toy from Will — and commenced instruction.

Will’s fingers were guided back inside. Not too deeply, he was told, and not too much pressure. He soon found and caressed that little spot. At least, he told himself, he was a quick learner.

More oil, thickly drizzled and spread over the tip of the golden shaft. He started slowly, and just deep enough, with the toy tilting down inside Hannibal's ass. Little circles. Shallow strokes. In and out. Over and over until Hannibal started to come undone.

It took only moments. Hannibal's cheek dropped down against the tiles. He fell silent, eyes shut and mouth open for short puffs of breath, as if he were fevered. His cheekbones grew flushed and that obscenely curved mouth began to tremble. His fingers were flexing restlessly, seeking grip.

Will could do all this to him. He could do it, but with his own dick. He could sink into that beautiful pink hole and make Hannibal weak with pleasure.

Hannibal still hadn't reached for his cock. Will remembered his words: he wouldn't touch himself until he had Will inside him. An image came to him, too strong to resist. He drew the toy from Hannibal's body, to the sound of a stifled protest.

"Where is your fur? The cloak you arrived in."

Hannibal peered back at him, panting. He needed a few moments to answer.

"In the bed chamber, sire."

"Go and spread it on the bed. Lie down on it." Will tugged him up by the chains on his hips. He pressed the toy into Hannibal's hands. "And— and put this back inside you. All the way inside. Then wait for me."

Hannibal looked at him briefly in silence, then spread a slow smile. He gave Will a shallow bow and stepped out of the bath. Will watched him as he walked away, a wet and naked vision torn from his fever-dream, a golden fuck toy in one hand, a slim silver jug of oil in another.

Will climbed out of the pool. His legs could barely hold him.

"This is complete madness," he muttered to himself.

Then he staggered after his servant.


	8. Chapter 8

The image that greeted him was the very one he'd seen in his head: Hannibal arranged on unfurled furs, all glistening skin, cock thick and flushed against his belly. He'd raised himself up on his elbows, splayed his legs wide and observed Will's approach with bright, expectant eyes. The handle of the toy gleamed between the smooth oiled mounds of his ass cheeks — he'd filled himself to the brim, just as Will had ordered.

Will climbed onto the bed. He clasped Hannibal's ankle and drew it onto his shoulder. He kissed the bracelet there, the finer bones. He stroked down, along Hannibal's inner thigh, then lower still to the wand's handle. He clasped it and twisted gently, eyes on Hannibal's face. Hannibal gasped. His cock twitched. A clear little droplet beaded up at the tip, sliding down to join the others caught like sticky jewels in the golden chains.

Will's mouth watered. He'd already tasted Hannibal so deeply — he wanted to taste him again. He stooped down and allowed himself one tentative flick of his tongue. It was better than he could have imagined: salt and brine of seawater, faint musk of sex, clean scented skin delicate as silk.

He sighed against Hannibal's cock and licked his lips. "I wanted to do this in the bath," he said.

Hannibal's teeth scraped along his lower lip, a sharp glint of white. "Why didn't you? Did I not say I'm yours?"

Will shook his head. He still couldn't confess the full extend of his ignorance. "I don't know. And I don't know why I like having you like— like this." He tugged again at the toy's rounded handle.

Hannibal reached up and stroked his cheek. "Like this, I have in me the force of your hand. The force of your command. Even with our bodies apart, I have the proxy of your desire inside me."

Will shivered and closed his eyes. He nuzzled into Hannibal's touch. The honesty of those words was as clean and sharp as a new blade.

"But for now," Hannibal murmured, "I would very much like to have it replaced with something real." His hand fell away, onto Will's cock. The touch, and the rush of arousal that came with it, shocked Will. He'd forgotten how desperate he'd become. He looked down at the sorry state of himself in Hannibal's hand, the painful stiffness of erection.

"Then brace yourself," he said. And started to pull.

Hannibal's back arched from the bed and his hands gripped the fur. His breath grew audible, hollowing out his belly with each strained expiration. Will watched as the thick base of the wand eased slowly past the impossible stretch of the muscle that held it, until the rippled shaft was drawn out entirely.

He sat back on his heels and wiped sweat from his brow. He felt dizzy again. His chest heaved at the sight that greeted him. Emptied of the golden implement that had impaled it, that tender pink opening hadn't quite closed up. It waited for Will now between Hannibal's thighs, beautiful and open and ready to be fucked.

Meanwhile, Hannibal couldn't keep quite still. The muscles in his shoulders shifted over the broad wings of his collarbone and his hips rocked minutely, as if he couldn't bear to be left so empty. His toes pinched at the furs. "Do I have to beg, sire?" he said at last, too quickly to sound patient.

"No, you don’t," Will said hoarsely and nodded to the jug of oil beside the bed. "More. On me and on you. Now."

It was done in a flash, with deft economy of gesture. A thin drizzle of oil over his dick, smoothed on with a caress that made him groan, then more over Hannibal's hole and along the shaft of Hannibal's cock.

They were slicked and ready. There was no more waiting. Will gripped Hannibal by the ankles, pushed his legs up and apart and drove himself in.

No struggle, no resistance — just a single sweet slide into that beautiful body. A slick tight furnace engulfed him whole. Will struggled to breathe. He stared down at the place where their bodies conjoined and found he had nothing else to give. His cock was lodged to the hilt in Hannibal's hole, held there as if they had been carved by Nature to fit about each other. When Will found his breath, it escaped him in one long aching cry.

His thighs shook and his belly spasmed but still he couldn't move. Hannibal was reaching for him, palms dancing in soothing caresses along his hips and sides. "Look how well you've made me yours," he whispered. “I can feel you everywhere inside me, filling me up.”

Will choked back a moan. He felt as if he might sob. “Is it too much?” he asked.

Hannibal raised a smile, a flash of pointed canines. He took himself in hand and started to stroke, at last. It spiked Will's lust to new heights. “Yes. Yes, it's far too much," he said slowly, "And still I’d take more from you. Will you do it? Will you fuck me as hard as you really want to?"

Will groaned. He licked a kiss from Hannibal's lips in reply, then straighten his back and let his hips draw back of their own accord. Then he shoved in again, hard.

After that, he was lost. Lust took over what remained of his senses and he started to fuck with hot abandon, snapping desperately into Hannibal's body, faster and faster. He threw his head back and let himself moan between Hannibal's moans, between the song of golden bells and the sharp sound of colliding damp skin.

He wouldn't last. Not when he couldn't close his eyes without seeing himself lapping at Hannibal's cock or ass, or open them without seeing Hannibal writhe and jerk off beneath him. He clamped one hand harder about Hannibal's ankle bracelet, gripped the other about the chains on Hannibal's hips and pulled. The bells rang in his ear and he squeezed and tugged and tugged at loops of gold without restraint. He heard a small cry. He opened his eyes and looked.

"Oh gods, I've hurt you," he gasped.

The delicate skin over Hannibal's hip had broken where Will had pulled at the chains. Beads of blood seeped between links of glinting metal and red marks lined the flesh. For a brief moment all Will wanted to do was pull again, harder.

He stopped, panting, and felt lost. His cock throbbed achingly, deep inside. He waited for guidance, a sign — he found it in Hannibal's face. Under the dreamy sensuality of that face, behind the heavy smooth lids of Hannibal's eyes, Will saw something raw and vicious. Hannibal gripped Will's wrist and pressed his palm against the wounds. Then he tightened his grip on his cock and worked himself fast and hard, fucked himself onto Will's dick. His neck arched, his breath stuttered, and come splattered hot and thick across his belly, a wicked harmony of white, red and gold.

It enflamed every nerve in Will's body. A few last frantic thrusts into Hannibal's limp and pliant body were all it took. Wave after wave of shocking pleasure crashed over him and spent every last drop of itself deep inside. The world behind his eyes dissolved to shimmering dust. He collapsed onto furs and damp skin and into the waiting arms of his beautiful servant.

\-----

Will's eyelids felt impossibly heavy. He fought to keep them open for the sake of a stealing a few more glances at Hannibal, who was moving quietly about the room.

After their lovemaking and the brief doze which followed, Hannibal slipped from his arms. He returned the oil and the golden toy to the bath chamber and came back half-dressed, carrying Will's discarded garments and a damp cloth. He cleaned Will up, silently and with thorough care, as any good chamber man would. His face was once more a pool of inscrutable calm — as if nothing had passed between them. Will frowned and thought about the red marks he'd left on Hannibal's hips.

"Where is your shirt?" he asked.

"Soaked, sire."

"And I don't suppose you have another."

Hannibal set the cloth aside and knelt to collect Will's boots from beside the bed. "I do not."

Will gave him a smile and padded the mattress. "Come here."

Hannibal seemed to hesitate. After a moment, he set the boots down and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

"I'll see to it that you get more clothes." Will reached for Hannibal's hand and squeezed it gently. "And in time, maybe even new bracelets for your wrists." Easier said than done. Worries were already teeming in the back of Will's mind: inevitable whispers and frowns at court, talk of indulgence and favouritism. Damn them all — Will was too sleepy and too blissfully content to give them any weight just now.

Hannibal inclined his head. "Thank you, sire."

"Will you sleep with me?" Will asked, quickly and without thought.

"It would hardly be proper. I will take your garments to be cleaned and return in the morning."

Will squeezed his hand again and tugged. "Hannibal. I just fucked you."

"Nevertheless."

"Nevertheless what? Haven't you just endured a long sea journey? You must be so tired."

Hannibal's eyes were on Will's hand. "I can sleep in the servants' closet. I saw you have one adjoining the bed chamber. Would that suit?"

Will sighed. A cramped, windowless little room versus his bed. A narrow cot versus soft bedding and his arms about Hannibal's body. He was too tired to argue.

"Fine. Just— make sure you're the first thing I see when I wake up."

Hannibal gave him a small smile. It appeased Will. He yawned and closed his eyes. He drifted. The last thing he remembered was Hannibal's hand slipping from his grip.

\----

Hannibal extinguished the lanterns and put out the candles one by one until only the flames in the hearth remained. By their light, he stopped to watch the king sleep. Some wild dream was fluttering behind his eyelids. He looked so beautiful, and so utterly exhausted. Hannibal had done that to him — and would do it to him again, through many different means. The court had wasted its ruler's potential abominably.  
  
He collected his fur cloak and hung it up in the servants' closet. It would need to be cleaned — Hannibal had had worse things splattered on it than oil and semen. For now he gave it a quick sniff and smiled: the sex-scent of his sweet sovereign lingered strongly in the hairs. Careful not to make a sound, he padded across the room, stepping over the bodies of snoring dogs, back into the bath chamber. There, he stood before a mirror and tugged down his breeches. He examined the red welts blooming beneath the chains on his hips. The dance of blood and gold on skin pleased him, just as the ache between his cheeks pleased him. He'd find some way to ensure that the king saw his handiwork tomorrow. For all his innocence and reticence, Will had an appetite for such bloody dances. Hannibal would soon know the depth of this appetite. He expected to discover that it matched his own.

He moved for the bath to collect his possessions. He sat down cross-legged on the tiles and examined each object in turn, as he had a thousand times before: the dildo he'd had crafted from the jewellery, trinkets and gold teeth of his first victims; the comb given to him by his aunt, retrieved from the bath water; the strigil he had stolen as a child from his father. All this time, and he still missed his mother's bracelets. No gift from the king could ever replace them.

He lingered over Mischa's brush. He passed it through his hair, as he used to pass it through hers. He kissed the swans and the reeds carved into the handle.

Of the men who took her from Hannibal, one remained alive. When Chiyoh sent word that the man had slipped her net, Hannibal sought him out. Eventually he found him and pursued him — too long, for the sake of the hunt — into treacherous borderlands. There, Will's soldiers caught him. They ate his aliment of salted flesh, mistaking it for venison, and took away his knives. The man escaped.

But fortune worked in mysterious ways. For whereas before he only had himself, Hannibal now had at his disposal all the deadly power of a beautiful king.

He'd harness that power and live to feast on the heart of the man who'd feasted on her tiny body.

All in good time. There was work to be done. First, he would get his knives back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Thank you for reading, and for the lovely comments. Lots of love to you all.
> 
> NB: I fixed a few appallingly structured sentences after posting, so things should flow a bit better now.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustration for Ornaments of Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14411895) by [TheSeaVoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices/pseuds/TheSeaVoices)




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